Work Text:
Erling knew Jude was pregnant before Jude did.
He did not know in any medical or sensible way, and when Jude asked him about it later, he could not point to one particular symptom that had given it away. Jude had been tired, but their season had only just ended, and Jude was always tired after weeks of travelling. He had complained about the smell of coffee one morning, then drank an entire cup that afternoon. He had also cried during a documentary about penguins, though Erling did not think that counted because Jude had cried the last time they watched it too.
It was more that something felt different, and Erling had spent enough years learning Jude that he noticed when even the smallest thing shifted.
On the morning Jude found out, he was standing in the kitchen wearing one of Erling’s shirts, glaring at a bowl of rice as though it had insulted his family.
“I can’t eat this.”
Erling looked over from the sink. “You asked me to make it.”
“I know.”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“I know that too.”
“You said you were starving.”
“I was, then you cooked it and now it smells…” Jude waved one hand in front of his face, searching for a word. “Warm.”
Erling stared at him. “Rice normally is warm.”
“Not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Too rice-like.”
There was no safe answer to that, so Erling turned off the tap and watched as Jude pushed the bowl farther away. His face had gone pale beneath the warm brown of his skin, and when the steam drifted toward him, he covered his mouth.
“Bathroom,” Erling said.
Jude barely made it.
Ten minutes later, he sat on the closed toilet lid with his elbows on his knees while Erling knelt in front of him, holding a glass of water and trying not to say what had been sitting at the back of his mind for nearly a week.
Jude took one sip, then narrowed his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you know something.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Your face does.”
“My face is concerned.”
“Your concerned face and your smug face are unfortunately similar.”
Erling rested his hands on Jude’s knees. “When were you supposed to get your period?”
Jude went completely still.
For several seconds, the only sound in the bathroom was the extractor fan humming above them.
“No,” Jude said.
“That was not an answer.”
“It can’t be.”
“We have been trying.”
“For one month.”
“Sometimes one month is enough.”
“You sound very proud of yourself.”
“I am making a scientific observation.”
Jude stared past him, counting silently. Erling could tell exactly when he reached the answer because his eyes widened and his hand moved to his stomach.
“I’m late.”
“How late?”
“I don’t know. Four days, maybe five.”
“We should buy a test.”
“You buy it.”
“Why me?”
“Because if I go, someone will recognise me, then they’ll look at what I’m buying, and by tonight there’ll be a photograph online with a red circle around the box.”
“People recognise me too.”
Jude gave him a slow look. “Wear a hat.”
Erling returned from the pharmacy with six tests from four different brands, three packets of crackers, ginger sweets, two bottles of water and a bunch of yellow tulips.
Jude stood in the hallway, looking through the bag while Erling removed his shoes.
“Why did you buy flowers?”
“I panicked.”
“And six tests?”
“I wanted to be sure.”
“Erling, if four of them say pregnant and two say not pregnant, what are you planning to do, request a recount?”
“Take all six.”
Jude did not take all six. He took two while Erling waited outside the bathroom, pacing from the bedroom door to the stairs until Jude finally opened the door and held out one white stick.
There were two lines.
Erling looked at the test, then at Jude, then back at the test.
“Is that positive?”
“No, it means I’m carrying twins.”
Erling’s head snapped up.
Jude burst out laughing, though it came out watery because his eyes were already filling. “I’m joking. Yes, it’s positive.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Apparently.”
“We’re having a baby.”
Jude nodded, pressing his lips together as tears spilled over anyway. Erling took the test from him before pulling him into his arms, one hand at the back of his head and the other spread carefully over his waist.
They had talked about this for almost a year, first as a distant possibility, then through appointments, blood tests and long conversations about timing. Jude had been the one to say he wanted to carry, Erling had asked if he was sure so many times that Jude threatened to change his answer out of spite, and after all that planning, Erling had still imagined it taking longer.
“Are you happy?” Jude asked into his chest.
Erling leaned back, offended. “What kind of question is that?”
“You look terrified.”
“I am terrified.”
“That’s not the same as happy.”
“I can be both.” He cupped Jude’s face and wiped beneath his eyes with both thumbs. “I’m so happy I don’t know what to do.”
Jude smiled, and Erling kissed him until the test in his hand pressed awkwardly against Jude’s back.
“Don’t touch me with the part I peed on,” Jude muttered against his mouth.
Erling pulled his hand away immediately. “You handed it to me.”
“I thought you understood how pregnancy tests work.”
“I was emotional.”
“You’ve been a father for three minutes and you’re already blaming the baby.”
They told Jobe that evening because Jude said he needed one person other than Erling to know, preferably someone who could be trusted not to tell their parents before they were ready.
Jobe stared at them through the phone screen, mouth slightly open.
“You’re serious?”
Jude held up the test.
“Why do you still have that?”
“It’s been five hours.”
“Yes, and you peed on it.”
Erling took the phone from Jude before the conversation could become an argument. “You’re the only person we’re telling until after the first trimester.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re his brother,” Erling said.
At the same time, Jude answered, “Because Mum will know the second she sees my face.”
Jobe watched them talk over each other, then shook his head. “That child is going to have a very long life.”
The first week went well enough that Jude became suspicious.
He was tired and his chest hurt, but the sickness did not return, and by the second appointment he had convinced himself that the rice had been a coincidence. He read three pregnancy books, downloaded two apps and began informing Erling of the baby’s approximate size every morning.
“A blueberry,” he announced while Erling made breakfast.
“Yesterday it was a pea.”
“Babies grow.”
“That quickly?”
“Apparently.” Jude looked at his phone. “It has little paddles for hands.”
Erling glanced toward his stomach. “That sounds concerning.”
“They’re going to become fingers.”
“Good.”
“Did you think it was going to come out with paddles?”
“I did not know babies had paddles at any stage.”
Jude spent the rest of breakfast reading facts aloud, and Erling listened while pretending not to take mental notes of every one.
Then week seven arrived.
At seven weeks and two days, Jude gagged when Erling kissed him goodbye.
Erling pulled back so quickly he nearly fell off the side of the bed. “What happened?”
Jude covered his mouth, eyes watering. “Your perfume.”
“My perfume?”
“It’s too strong.”
“You bought it for me.”
“I know.”
“You said it was your favourite smell in the world.”
“I was wrong.” Jude turned away and buried his nose in the pillow. “Take your shirt off.”
“I have to leave for training.”
“Then shower.”
“I just showered.”
“Do it again.”
Erling showered again.
When he came home that afternoon, his expensive perfume was sitting inside a sealed freezer bag on the kitchen counter with a note that read, Do not open until further notice.
He took a photograph and sent it to Jobe.
Erling: This pregnancy is difficult already.
Jobe: For Jude or for you?
Erling: He gagged when I kissed him.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then returned.
Jobe: Maybe that isn’t the pregnancy.
Erling: He said it was my perfume.
Jobe: The one he gave you?
Erling: Yes.
Jobe: Take it personally.
Erling: I came to you for support.
Jobe: That was your first mistake.
Erling found Jude asleep on the sofa with a blanket pulled to his chin and one hand resting over his stomach. The television was on low, playing a cooking programme neither of them watched, and there was an open packet of crackers beside him.
Erling crouched by the sofa and brushed a curl from his forehead.
Jude opened his eyes immediately. “You smell better.”
“Hello to you too.”
“Did you wear it again?”
“No. I may never wear it again.”
Jude looked guilty. “I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“It was expensive.”
“So are you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Erling kissed his forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Sick, tired, hungry, but every food I think about makes me feel worse.”
“Crackers?”
“I hate crackers.”
“You’re eating them.”
“That’s why I hate them.”
Erling sat on the floor beside him, and Jude moved close enough to rest his face against Erling’s shoulder, breathing him in cautiously before deciding he was safe.
The shower incident happened three days later.
Erling was downstairs when he heard the water turn off, followed by a silence that lasted long enough to worry him. He went upstairs and found Jude sitting naked on the bathmat with a towel around his shoulders, crying into both hands.
“What happened?” Erling dropped to his knees. “Did you fall?”
Jude shook his head.
“Are you hurt?”
Another head shake.
“Is something wrong with the baby?”
“No.” Jude dragged in a shaky breath. “The shower was too loud.”
Erling paused.
“The shower.”
“I know it sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does. It’s the same shower we always use, but the water was hitting the wall, and it was so loud, and I couldn’t make it stop without getting shampoo in my eyes.”
Erling gathered the towel around him properly and pulled him close. Jude climbed halfway into his lap, still crying, wet curls soaking Erling’s shirt.
“I’ll fix it,” Erling murmured.
“You can’t fix water.”
“I can change the shower head.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Then I will stand there and tell the water to be quiet.”
Jude laughed through his tears. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It listens to me.”
“Nothing listens to you.”
“You do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Sometimes.”
Jude tucked his face against Erling’s neck. “Don’t tell Jobe.”
“I won’t.”
Erling waited until Jude fell asleep that night.
Erling: He cried because the shower was too loud.
Jobe: You promised not to tell me, didn’t you?
Erling: Yes.
Jobe: Terrible husband.
Erling: I need help. What do I do when he cries about something I cannot fix?
Jobe’s answer took longer this time.
Jobe: You don’t always have to fix it. Hold him, agree that the shower is rude, get him dry and give him food.
Erling: He hates all food.
Jobe: Then offer him five things and don’t look offended when he rejects all of them.
Erling: This is very specific.
Jobe: I grew up with him. Pregnancy didn’t invent the drama.
Jude’s food aversions became a rotating list that Erling kept in the notes app on his phone. Rice remained forbidden. Eggs were acceptable only before eleven in the morning, bananas could not be eaten in the same room, and chicken was fine unless Jude had seen it raw at any point during the previous twenty-four hours.
For four days, the only thing he wanted was toast with strawberry jam.
On the fifth day, Erling brought it to him in bed and Jude began crying.
“What did I do?” Erling asked.
Jude pointed at the plate. “You cut it into squares.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted triangles.”
“You always eat squares.”
“Not today.”
Erling carried the plate downstairs, cut each square diagonally and returned with eight small triangles.
Jude stared at them. “Those look wrong too.”
Erling sat beside him. “Should I make new toast?”
“No, that’s wasteful.”
“Then eat this.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me.”
“You have the face.”
“This is my normal face.”
“Your normal face looks upset.”
“Jude.”
“Now you’re frustrated.”
“I am not frustrated.”
“You sighed.”
“Because I love you.”
Jude cried harder.
Erling put the plate aside and pulled him against his chest, rubbing his back while Jude apologised into his shirt for being impossible.
“You’re growing our baby,” Erling said. “You can ask me to cut toast into circles if you want.”
“Can you do that?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t want circles.”
“Good, because that would waste more bread.”
Jude hit him weakly in the chest, then reached blindly for one of the ugly triangles and ate the entire plate while leaning against him.
The wine crisis arrived at nine weeks.
They were meant to be having a quiet Friday night at home, though quiet had become a generous description for any evening that involved Jude changing his mind about dinner three times. Erling made pasta, one of the few meals still approved, and brought out a bottle of red wine before remembering halfway through opening it that Jude could not drink.
He pushed it back into the cupboard, but Jude had already seen.
“I miss wine.”
“You barely drink wine.”
“I drank it when I wanted to.”
“You can drink it again after the baby.”
“That’s months away.”
“We have alcohol-free wine.”
“It tastes like disappointment.”
Jude sat at the kitchen island and looked so genuinely miserable that Erling searched every cupboard for an alternative. Ten minutes later, he placed a wine glass in front of him filled with dark purple grape juice.
Jude looked at it.
He took one sip.
His bottom lip trembled.
“Is it bad?” Erling asked.
Jude shook his head, then covered his eyes with one hand as tears slid down his cheeks.
“It’s not the same.”
“I know.”
“I know you know, and I don’t know why I’m crying.”
Erling stood on the other side of the island, completely unsure whether he should take the glass away or pour more. He took out his phone beneath the counter.
Erling: I gave him grape juice in a wine glass.
Jobe answered almost immediately.
Jobe: Did it help?
Erling: He looked at it, took one sip and cried harder.
Jobe: That’s so pregnant of him.
Erling: Do I take it away?
Jobe: No. Pour more and look very sorry. That’s your whole job.
Erling put his phone down, topped up the glass and gave Jude what he hoped was an appropriately apologetic look.
Jude drank the juice, still sniffling, then whispered, “I’m sorry,” to the glass.
Erling had to bite the inside of his cheek.
“Are you laughing at me?” Jude asked.
“No.”
“You are.”
“I would never.”
“Your shoulders are shaking.”
“I’m also emotional.”
Jude narrowed his wet eyes, then held the glass against his chest. “Don’t speak to me.”
Erling moved around the island and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Jude resisted for approximately three seconds before leaning back against him.
“Jobe said Donut thinks crying about wine is reasonable,” Erling offered.
Jude turned his head. “You told Jobe?”
“I needed guidance.”
“Donut is a dog.”
“A very understanding dog.”
“I hate both of you.”
“You love us.”
“I love Donut.”
Erling kissed his cheek. “I’ll earn it back.”
Jobe visited the following afternoon with a bottle of expensive grape juice tied with a gold ribbon.
Jude looked from the bottle to his brother. “I trusted you.”
“That was unwise.”
“Did he tell you about the shower too?”
Jobe glanced at Erling.
Erling suddenly became interested in arranging the cushions.
“Oh my God.” Jude pointed at him. “You said you wouldn’t.”
“I was concerned.”
“You have been reporting my symptoms to my brother?”
“Only the difficult ones.”
“Which ones are difficult?”
Erling and Jobe answered together. “All of them.”
Jude threw a cushion at each of them.
Jobe stayed for dinner, during which Jude ate half of Erling’s meal after rejecting his own identical plate. When Erling pointed this out, Jude explained that food tasted better when stolen, and Jobe nodded as though this were medically accepted information.
“You’re doing fine,” he told Erling later, while Jude stood in the pantry looking for something sweet. “He complains about you, but he does that when he likes people.”
“He complains about you constantly.”
“I’m his favourite person.”
“Second favourite.”
Jobe looked at him. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m his favourite.”
Jude came back carrying a jar of honey. “Why are you whispering?”
“Erling said I’m your favourite,” Jobe replied.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You’re both wrong. Mum is my favourite.”
“Traitor,” Jobe muttered.
At twelve weeks, they went for the scan.
Jude had been quiet all morning, and Erling knew better than to fill the silence. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting open between them until Jude finally placed his hand in it.
“What if something’s wrong?” he asked.
“Then we’ll handle it.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I don’t know how to promise you something I can’t know.”
Jude looked out the window. “I wish you would lie.”
“Everything will be perfect.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
“You asked me to.”
“You did it badly.”
Erling lifted their joined hands and kissed Jude’s knuckles. “I’m scared too.”
That made Jude turn back.
“You are?”
“Of course. I just don’t want to make you more scared.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“Neither do you.”
Jude squeezed his hand. “Fine. We’re both terrified.”
“Together.”
The baby was fine.
Small, active and apparently determined to make the technician work for every measurement, but fine. Jude watched the screen with tears sliding silently into his hair while Erling held his hand so tightly the rings pressed into both their fingers.
Then the room filled with a quick, steady heartbeat.
Jude laughed through his tears. Erling did not make any sound at all, though when Jude looked over, his face had crumpled.
“Are you crying?” Jude whispered.
“No.”
“You are.”
“Be quiet.”
“Your shoulders are shaking.”
Erling leaned over and kissed him before he could continue.
They left with several grainy photographs and the reassurance that everything looked exactly as it should. In the car park, Jude sent one picture to Jobe.
His phone rang less than ten seconds later.
“Is that my niece or nephew?” Jobe asked without saying hello.
“That’s your brother’s bladder.”
There was a pause.
“Why would you send me that?”
“Because you deserve it.” Jude laughed and switched to a video call, turning the phone so Jobe could see the correct image. “This is the baby.”
Jobe’s face softened. “Everything good?”
“Everything’s good.”
“And Jude?”
Erling leaned into view. “Still dramatic.”
“I’m sitting right here.”
“I know.”
Jobe smiled. “When are you telling Mum and Dad?”
“Tonight,” Jude said. “Erling’s parents too. We’re doing one big call.”
“Good. I’m tired of keeping this secret.”
“You’ve known for five weeks.”
“Longest five weeks of my life.”
“You enjoyed every second.”
“I enjoyed the grape juice.”
Jude ended the call.
Telling their families involved more crying than the scan. Their mothers cried, their fathers tried not to, and Jobe sat smugly in the corner of his parents’ screen until Jude announced that he had known from the beginning. Then everyone shouted at him for keeping the secret, which he seemed to enjoy even more.
Afterward, the pregnancy stopped belonging only to Jude, Erling, Jobe and the unfortunate glass of grape juice.
Packages began arriving from both families. Jude’s mother called every morning. Erling’s mum called every evening, usually to remind him to take care of Jude as if he had been doing anything else. Their friends began offering advice nobody had requested, and Erling developed the habit of reading product reviews for baby equipment at two in the morning.
The sickness eased in the second trimester, though the emotions did not.
Jude cried when he felt the baby move for the first time, then cried again because Erling could not feel it. A week later, Erling had his palm against Jude’s stomach when the baby kicked hard enough to make them both jump.
“Was that him?” Erling asked.
“Or her.”
“Was that the baby?”
“Yes.”
Erling dropped to his knees in front of the sofa. “Do it again.”
Jude laughed. “I don’t control it.”
“Baby,” Erling said directly to his stomach, “kick again.”
Nothing happened.
“Very stubborn,” Erling decided. “Like you.”
“You gave one instruction and got ignored. That’s probably your contribution.”
The baby kicked.
Erling looked up, delighted. “He agrees with me.”
“Or she kicked because your voice is annoying.”
“Still listening.”
From then on, Erling spoke to the baby every night. He gave updates about training, complained when Jude stole his food and explained football tactics against Jude’s stomach until Jude threatened to put headphones over the bump.
They found out they were having a boy at twenty weeks.
Erling spent the drive home trying out names. Most were rejected before he finished saying them.
“Magnus.”
“No.”
“You didn’t consider it.”
“I considered it before you said it.”
“Oscar.”
“We know an Oscar.”
“There can be two.”
“There won’t be.”
“Jude Junior.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Erling Junior.”
“Even worse.”
“Why is mine worse?”
“Because one Erling is plenty.”
They argued for three weeks before Jude suggested Elias one night in bed. Erling repeated it quietly, one hand resting over the curve of Jude’s stomach.
“Elias,” he said again.
The baby kicked beneath his palm.
Jude smiled. “I think he likes it.”
“Or he hates it.”
“You said kicks meant agreement.”
“Only when he agreed with me.”
“Convenient.”
They called him Elias from then on.
By the third trimester, Jude could no longer tie his own shoes, sleep through the night or sit comfortably for longer than fifteen minutes. Elias seemed to spend most evenings pressing one foot beneath his ribs, and every time Jude complained, Erling apologised to him as though he had personally told the baby where to kick.
“Move your son,” Jude said one night, pushing Erling’s hand toward the hard shape beneath his skin.
“He is also your son.”
“Not when he’s doing this.”
Erling rubbed slow circles over the spot. “Elias, leave your dad alone.”
The pressure shifted.
Jude stared at him. “I hate that he listens to you.”
“Someone in this house should.”
Jude’s eyes filled.
Erling immediately regretted speaking. “That was a joke.”
“I know.”
“Why are you crying?”
“Because he already likes you more.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He always kicks when you talk, and he stops hurting me when you ask. I’m doing all the work, and you’re his favourite.”
Erling moved carefully onto the sofa beside him and pulled Jude against his chest. “He hears my voice and thinks, here is the annoying one again, maybe if I move he’ll stop talking.”
Jude sniffed. “You think?”
“Definitely.”
“You are very annoying.”
“Exactly.”
“And loud.”
“Now you’re hurting my feelings.”
Jude smiled against his shoulder. “Sorry.”
“He knows you already. Your heartbeat, your voice, everything. You are his whole world right now.” Erling pressed a kiss to Jude’s temple, then another when he felt him begin to cry harder. “You will be his favourite. I am preparing myself.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Everyone likes you more than me.”
“That’s true.”
“Jobe said it too.”
“He did not.”
“He implied it.”
Later, while Jude slept against him, Erling texted Jobe.
Erling: He cried because the baby listens to me.
Jobe: Does the baby listen to you?
Erling: Yes.
Jobe: I’d cry too. I’ve been trying for years.
Erling: He thinks Elias likes me more.
Jobe: Tell him Elias is currently inside his body. That’s quite committed.
Erling: I said Jude is his whole world.
Jobe: That’s annoyingly good.
Erling: Thank you.
Jobe: I wasn’t complimenting you.
Jobe came over the following weekend to help build the cot. He and Erling ignored the instructions for forty minutes before admitting that one of the side panels was upside down, while Jude sat in the nursery doorway eating apple slices and offering increasingly unhelpful commentary.
“You have four screws left,” he said.
“They are extras,” Erling replied.
“Furniture companies don’t give extra screws.”
“They should.”
Jobe held up the instruction booklet. “They belong in the base.”
Erling looked beneath the cot. “The base is attached.”
“Incorrectly.”
“It is holding.”
“We’re putting a baby in there, not your gym bag.”
Jude began laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.
Both of them dropped their tools.
“What?” Erling asked.
“Nothing, I’m laughing.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“Is the baby coming?” Jobe asked.
“I’m thirty-three weeks.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“Neither of you is going to survive the birth.”
Erling helped Jude up from the floor as if he were made of glass, one hand beneath his elbow and the other around his waist. Jobe watched them, then glanced toward the cot.
“If you two are done being in love, we have to rebuild this.”
“We’re married,” Jude said. “We’re allowed.”
“Not while I’m doing free labour.”
They finished the cot just before midnight. Jobe tested every rail himself, then lay down on the rug and refused to move until Erling promised to order food.
Jude stood in the middle of the nursery, one hand at the base of his back, looking at the cot, the shelves and the little yellow sleepsuit hanging from a hook near the door.
“He’s going to be here soon,” he said.
Erling came up behind him, fitting both hands beneath his stomach the way he had begun doing whenever the weight became too much.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
“You’re not the one who has to give birth.”
“No, I only have to watch the person I love do something painful while being completely useless.”
“You can hold my hand.”
“I might break yours.”
Jude leaned back against him. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
“Right. You break mine.”
“Better.”
Jobe lifted his head from the rug. “Can you have this emotional moment after ordering dinner?”
Jude picked up one of the decorative cushions and threw it at him.
In the final weeks, sleep became something Jude remembered fondly. He built a nest of pillows around himself, stole Erling’s side of the bed and woke him at least twice a night for help getting up, then apologised every time.
“Stop saying sorry,” Erling told him one night as he helped Jude back beneath the covers.
“I woke you again.”
“You are supposed to.”
“Who says?”
“Jobe.”
Jude gave him a tired look. “You’ve been taking pregnancy advice from my little brother for eight months.”
“He knows you.”
“He once convinced me toothpaste could expire overnight.”
“That does not mean he is always wrong.”
“What advice did he give you?”
“He said my job is to pour more grape juice and look sorry.”
Jude laughed quietly, settling onto his side. “You did look very sorry.”
“I practised.”
“It was terrible.”
“You drank the juice.”
“Then apologised to it.”
“You remember?”
“Unfortunately.”
Erling lay down facing him. The curve of Jude’s stomach separated them, so he rested his palm against it and waited until Elias shifted beneath his hand.
“Do you think he’ll look like you?” he asked.
“He’d be lucky.”
“Very humble.”
“You married me.”
“I know.”
Jude’s smile softened. “You want him to look like me.”
“I only care that he’s healthy.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It is what matters.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m being a responsible father.”
“You’re being annoying.”
Erling smiled and moved closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of Jude’s mouth.
“Your eyes,” he admitted.
“Only my eyes?”
“Maybe your smile.”
“And your height?”
“Obviously.”
“Absolutely not.”
They argued quietly until Jude fell asleep, Erling’s hand still resting over Elias and his thumb moving slowly against Jude’s skin.
A week later, rain tapped against the bedroom windows sometime before dawn.
Erling woke to Jude’s hand on his shoulder.
“Erling.”
He sat up immediately. “What happened?”
Jude was breathing carefully, one hand gripping the sheets and the other pressed beneath the heavy curve of his stomach.
“I think it’s time.”
For several seconds, Erling did not move.
“Time for what?”
Jude stared at him. “Don’t make me explain where babies come from right now.”
Erling launched himself out of bed so quickly he caught one foot in the duvet and nearly hit the floor.
“The bag,” he said. “Where is the bag?”
“By the door.”
“Which door?”
“The front door, Erling.”
“Right.”
He made it halfway into the hallway before turning back, hurrying to Jude’s side and taking his face between both hands.
“Are you okay?”
“Ask me again in a few hours.”
“I’m asking now.”
Jude looked frightened beneath the irritation, and Erling leaned down until their foreheads touched.
“We’re okay,” Jude whispered. “Just get me to the hospital.”
Erling kissed him once, quick and trembling, then helped him out of bed.
As they reached the stairs, Jude stopped.
“My grape juice.”
“What?”
“There’s some left in the fridge.”
“Jude, you are in labour.”
“It’ll go bad.”
Erling closed his eyes for one second, then took out his phone.
Erling: The baby is coming.
Jobe’s reply arrived before they reached the front door.
Jobe: NOW?
Erling: Yes. Jude is worried about the grape juice.
Jobe: I’ll protect it. You protect my brother.
Erling slipped the phone into his pocket and wrapped his arm more securely around Jude’s waist.
“Jobe says he’ll take care of it.”
Jude nodded, visibly relieved. “Good.”
“And I’m taking care of you.”
“I know.”
Outside, the rain had begun falling harder, cold drops catching in their hair as Erling helped Jude into the car. He checked the seat belt twice, checked the hospital bag three times and stood beside the open door for one frightened second, looking at Jude and the stomach that had held their son for nine months.
Jude reached for his hand.
“Come on, Papa.”
Erling brought Jude’s knuckles to his mouth, kissed them and finally smiled.
“Let’s go meet him.”